


You don’t need to be superhuman to be a superhero

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AvLand Mission 10, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the scene in AoU where Clint gets injured and it's revealed that he gets injured often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You don’t need to be superhuman to be a superhero

**Author's Note:**

> AvLand Challenge #4: To write a ficlet of 200-800 words using the following keywords:
> 
>   * Fast
>   * Laugh
>   * S.H.I.E.L.D.
>   * Yelled
>   * Injury
>   * Secret
>   * Apartment
>   * Friends
> 

> 
> **Personal challenge:** to use all the **keywords** exactly once, in the exact order that they were provided in.

Those little buggers were _**fast**_.

Clint cursed as he was forced to abandon his perch for the second time in thirty minutes, leaping off the building barely a moment before his previous position was swarmed by little robotic spider-looking things chittering away angrily at his timely departure. He twisted back around, shooting a grapple arrow into the next building, and had to duck when he nearly collided with Iron Man in mid-swing.

Tony swooped through the air with a loud whoop, doing a little shimmy as he blasted those spider-critters off Clint’s previous perch. “Need a hand, Legolas?” His **laugh** was less mocking than it could have been, but still a blow to Clint’s wounded pride. In retaliation, Clint’s next arrow flew so close to Tony’s faceplate that it almost pinged off the metal, before exploding in the middle of another mass of miniature robots. Tony’s yelp was very satisfying.

Saving the world once wasn’t enough, apparently. As if the Chitauri invasion had been an open invitation, villains now attacked New York like clockwork. And every time this happened, **S.H.I.E.L.D.** called them in.

The Avengers. They were a _thing_ now.

Clint’s musings were cut short by a thunderclap right next to his ear, and for a moment he wondered dizzily, wasn’t Thor still on Asgard? It took him a few moments to realise that he was falling, falling, and then swinging, swinging through the air, dangling from another grapple arrow he had no recollection of reaching for.

Clint hit the ground and coughed, once, a hacking cough that rumbled deep in his chest.

He could see Steve running towards him. “Hawkeye, are you all right?” **yelled** Steve. At least, he thought that was what Steve had said. His ears weren’t really working, and his lip reading skills were a little rusty.

“Yeah,” croaked Clint, experimentally rotating his arm. Long experience – that, and he suspected a mild concussion – kept his expression blank and words even when searing hot pain shot up his shoulder.

The **injury** wasn’t severe. He’d dealt with worse. Steve had more important things to worry about.

They ended up forming the requisite _Hero Circle_ again, as the robots converged upon them. It was a short but brutal fight, and the only thing Clint could think of when it was finally, _finally_ over was that it was a good thing Tony was so rich. That was a lot of demolished buildings.

And then it was time to go home.

The location of the main base for a **secret** spy agency, where his issued quarters were located, was classified. Naturally, this meant everyone knew where it was. Given the number of bad guys that the organisation put away on a regular basis, Clint had no wish to be around when one of them eventually decided to pre-emptively blow the place sky-high. No, Clint preferred to live off-base, in a small two-bedroom **apartment** as far away from Manhattan as he could manage while still being in New York City.

He leant heavily against the wall the moment the front door thudded shut behind him, grimacing as he tried to lift the shirt up and failed. Scissors, then. Now, if only he could get his body to move…

Clint slid to the floor.

_Five more minutes…_

“Looking for these?”

Clint’s eyes snapped open, and his boot knife was in his hand before he registered _who_ had spoken.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, dangling a pair of scissors in front of his face and looking supremely unimpressed.

He wanted to ask, _how did you know?_ But this was Nat they were talking about. She always knew.

Gentle hands – so gentle, when they could snap his neck before he could react in his current muggy state – unbuckled his combat vest and then there was only the snip, snip, snip of scissors as his undershirt came away.

Natasha frowned down at the image he made. “Bathroom,” she decided. Clint didn’t bother protesting as she hauled him up, though he did try to support some of his own weight as they stumbled towards the bathroom.

“Nat,” he croaked as she started dabbing antiseptic over his bruises, examining them with a critical eye. “Thanks.”

She scoffed, but he could see her eyes soften. “We’re **friends** , aren’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Voting results:  
> \- Winner of Category: Best fic  
> \- Winner of Category: Best usage of keywords
> 
> [I have a Tumblr if you're interested!](starriewolf.tumblr.com)


End file.
